Author: Momo Chan

After my younger brother, Chase, went to prison, I started dating his best friend. Three years later, Chase was about to be released. I overheard someone ask my boyfriend: “When Chase gets out, what gift are you planning to give him?” My young boyfriend, Ethan, dangled a USB drive in his hand. “How about 32GB of HD videos of his sister? Does that count?” 1 Laughter erupted in the VIP booth, sleazy and loud. “Damn, Ethan, you’re a genius. I wondered why you hooked up with Chase’s sister. Playing the long game, huh?” “If Chase finds out you’ve been using his sister like a toy, do you think he’ll go crazy enough to end up back inside?” “I can’t wait to see his face when he gets these videos.” Inside, Ethan toyed with his phone, a lazy, mocking smile on his lips. He warned the group, “When Anna comes back, keep your mouths shut. If she finds out, you’re all dead meat.” “Relax, man. You’ve been plotting this for so long, we wouldn’t ruin it for you. But hey, why don’t you show us a preview? We’re all curious about what Chase’s precious sister tastes like.” Standing outside the door, my mind went blank. The filth spewing from inside made my legs weak. “Miss? Are you looking for a room?” A voice pulled me back from the abyss. The waiter noticed my pale face. “Do you need help?” I shook my head, threw the birthday cake I was holding into the trash, and turned to leave. 2 Ethan was my boyfriend, and also my brother Chase’s best friend. I first met him the summer after my freshman year of college. I was walking home from my part-time job when I was nearly assaulted. Ethan showed up just in time and saved me. Later, when Chase went to prison, Ethan found me and said my brother had asked him to take care of me. I didn’t believe it. Chase and I were siblings, but we were like oil and water. Chase wasn’t exactly a model citizen, so I figured his friends were trash too. Even though Ethan was technically my savior, I never gave him the time of day. But I didn’t expect Ethan’s “care” to persist for six months. He brought me three meals a day, rain or shine. When I got sick, he nursed me back to health, cooking porridge and buying medicine. I wasn’t used to people being nice to me, and I certainly didn’t want to be involved with Chase’s crowd. No matter how many times I rejected him, Ethan pretended not to hear. Finally, when he secretly paid off my family’s debts, I snapped. “What did Chase give you to make you act like his loyal dog?” “What if I told you he didn’t give me anything?” I froze. Ethan’s eyes were slightly misty, a bitter smile on his handsome face. “You guessed right. Chase didn’t ask me to look after you. I did it because I wanted to. Anna… I’ve been planning to get close to you for a long time.” That day, we started dating. Back then, I thought his “plan” was born out of love. Now I know it was just revenge against Chase. 3 My phone buzzed non-stop after I left the bar. Ethan’s texts flooded in. “Where are you, babe? Why aren’t you here yet?” “Need me to pick you up?” “Why aren’t you answering?” Today was Ethan’s 20th birthday. I had promised to celebrate with him. I even went out of my way to buy his favorite cake. I never expected such a “surprise.” Looking at the messages, I strangely calmed down. “Something came up. I can’t make it today. You have fun with your friends.” Ethan seemed disappointed, sending a string of crying emojis. “I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done here.” When I didn’t reply, he sent another text: “I love you, wifey.” I stared at that sentence, spacing out. I realized that when sadness hits a peak, you lose the ability to feel emotion. My reaction now reminded me of the day my father died. Outside the morgue, everyone was crying. I was the only one calmly dealing with the hospital staff. My mother called me heartless, screaming that I didn’t shed a tear for the father who adored me. I looked coldly at my mother, who had cried until she fainted, and wanted to ask: Or what? Should I just vent my emotions like you and ignore everything else? I exited the chat emotionlessly and was about to lock my screen when the phone vibrated twice more. A string of numbers I didn’t recognize. “Released Monday, 6 AM.” “Guard sent this for me.” “Don’t come if you’re busy.” “Don’t reply.” 4 Just a few dry sentences. Even without a name, I knew who it was immediately. How long had it been since I heard from Chase? The last time was three years ago, the night I was assaulted. I had rejected his calls, so his texts exploded like firecrackers on my screen. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do you remember what he looked like?” “[Image Attachment]” “Is this him?” “Answer me! Are you mute?” I was impatient then. “What’s the use of telling you? Can you kill him? Don’t think I don’t know these people came for you. Chase, if you still consider me your sister, stay away from me.” After that day, Chase really stopped contacting me. The next news I got was a court sentencing document. Assault and battery. Three years and two months. I wasn’t surprised. Chase was a delinquent; prison was inevitable. But I still went to see him before he was locked up. The boy in the inmate uniform had a depth in his eyes that didn’t belong to his age. “It’s just three years. Don’t worry.” I sneered. “Worry? I wish you were dead.” This time, Chase didn’t talk back. He smiled at me, hummed an acknowledgment, and said, “Good. Don’t be scared.” Time was up. The guard was taking him away. He stood up, walked two steps, then suddenly turned back. “Sis!” He looked at me and said his last words for three years. “Take care of yourself.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388976”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was married to Caden Thorne for three years. He hated me the entire time. When I was kidnapped, I begged him for help. His response was a cold refusal. “She’s just a replacement. Do whatever you want with her.” His “first love” laughed along. “If she hadn’t forced him into marriage, we would have been together years ago.” “Let her suffer a bit. It’s the price she pays for what she did.” That night, broken by torture and despair, I fell from the rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the eve of our engagement. At that moment, he received a text from his “first love” inviting him to meet. He flew from New York to LA overnight. As soon as he left, I bought a plane ticket too. “Going to LA to catch him cheating?” my friend asked. “No.” I shook my head, smiling at her shocked expression. “I’m going back to Boston.” This time. He went west to be with his beauty. And I went north, to chase my dreams. 1 The last memory of my previous life was dragging my broken, decaying body to the edge of the roof and falling. The pain of broken ribs piercing my lungs and blood choking me was still vivid. Then, time rewound. I opened my eyes to a steamy bathroom. A group of rich, spoiled trust fund kids surrounded me, their tones mocking. “Sister, if there’s no mirror at home, surely you have piss to look into?” “Look at this pathetic sight. You think you’re worthy of being Caden’s fiancée?” “Keep dreaming. Come on, let’s help wake her up.” The leader sneered and sprayed freezing water directly into my face. The icy water dripped down my hair, making me shiver. Through my blurred vision, I saw a younger Caden Thorne leaning against the door frame, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He flicked his lighter. Click. The flame danced. “Sarah.” He called my name, his brow gentle. But his words were like unmelted winter ice. “Since you came looking for me, I might as well be clear.” “The engagement arranged by our elders doesn’t count.” “Do you understand?” He tore the gold-stamped engagement contract I had treasured for years into shreds. The pieces fell like endless snow. I pressed my lips together, saying nothing. My gaze moved past him to the open bottle of whiskey on the table. Only then did I realize. This wasn’t the bloody scene of my death after the kidnapping. It was— Three years ago, the night before Caden and I were supposed to get our marriage license. 2 The thin paper fragments seemed to fold into frames of a movie, pulling me into a distant yet clear memory. It was ridiculous, really. This torn engagement contract came about when Caden accompanied his grandfather to Boston for medical treatment. They heard my uncle was a brilliant doctor and moved in next door. Caden coaxed me into signing it. At first, no one supported this relationship. The Sterling family had been doctors for generations, detached from the pursuit of wealth and fame. The Thorne family, however, ruled the New York business world. The gap in our status was too wide. Grandfather Thorne thought it was just puppy love and didn’t take it seriously. But Caden was so serious, begging both families to agree. He knelt on the ground, swearing to treat me well forever. Moved by his sincerity, I held his hand firmly, standing by his side. The tug-of-war lasted six months. Grandfather Thorne couldn’t say no to him and finally agreed to the engagement. We had a brief, happy time. “Sarah, I like you.” “The kind of like where I want to marry you and spend my life with you.” The boy stared at me, his eyes shining. He solemnly framed the paper, writing our names in gold ink. Later, Grandfather Thorne recovered and prepared to return to New York. Before leaving, Caden hugged me so tight it felt like he wanted to merge me into his bones. “Wait for me.” “I’ll come back for you.” But unfortunately, he broke his promise. From seventeen to twenty-seven, we were long-distance for ten years. When I finally went to New York full of hope to find Caden and fulfill our promise, he gave me only one sentence. “The engagement arranged by our elders doesn’t count.” I sat in the dark stairwell crying. I couldn’t understand what went wrong. Even if he wanted to break up, there should be a reason. After everyone left the room, I pushed open the door again. But I was pulled into a drunken embrace and pressed against the window. “Selena, you’re back?” Hot breath landed on my neck. Before I could speak, my lips were sealed by a lingering kiss. …… 3 The next morning, the doorbell rang. I rubbed my sore waist and went to open it, thinking it was the maid, but it was Grandfather Thorne visiting his grandson. We were caught in the act. Even though Caden was reluctant, he married me. On the wedding day, during the toast. A girl who looked seventy or eighty percent like me sat in the audience, red-eyed, raising her glass. “Congratulations.” “Wishing you a happy marriage and a long life together.” Caden didn’t respond. His hand clenched at his side, veins popping, knuckles white. After a long while, he snatched the glass, drank from where her lips had touched, and downed it in one gulp. His voice was strained. “Thanks, Selena.” In that moment, I realized. That night, when he called “Selena,” he meant Selena Quinn. And I was just a substitute for his white moonlight. Before she returned to the country, he intended to break it off with me completely, but in his drunken state, he mistook me for her. Creating a lifelong regret. For three years of marriage, Caden hated me. He never looked me in the eye. Even accidental touches were shaken off like I was filth. On our anniversary, I was kidnapped by his business rival to force him to give up a piece of land worth billions in Manhattan. In the abandoned factory, I trembled as I called him for help. Only to receive a cold refusal. “Heh, where does Mr. Chen get the confidence that she’s worth that much?” “She’s just a replacement. Do whatever you want.” “Even if you break her, I won’t feel a thing.” Selena Quinn laughed along. “She deserves it.” “If she hadn’t forced the marriage, we would have been together long ago.” “Letting her suffer is just the price for her mistake.” The sudden hang-up made the kidnappers look at me with even more anger. What followed was a night of humiliation and torture. Until dawn broke. I curled up in the corner, clothes torn, like a broken doll, trying to escape to call the police. But my mind broke, and I fell from the roof. The second before consciousness faded. I thought of nothing but this— If there is a next life, I will love the mountains, I will love the water. But I will never, ever love Caden Thorne again. Absolutely not. Fortunately, heaven had mercy. It gave me a chance to start over. 4 My thoughts returned. The old memories receded like the tide. But the accumulated grievances and bitterness from my past life lingered. I bit my lip, unable to hold back a tear. “Woah, crying already?” “She really loves Caden.” “What a pathetic simp.” The crowd laughed, convinced I loved Caden too much to leave. Even Caden thought so. He raised an eyebrow, impatient. “Save the cheap tears.” “Think crying will make me soft?” The crystal chandelier light hit his face. Those amber eyes were dazzling, features sharp and handsome, but his gaze was cold. “Sarah, have some self-awareness.” “We are worlds apart. It was your blessing that I lowered myself to play with you for a few years.” “Be smart and stop pestering me.” “We’re even.” I wiped my tears and spoke my first words since rebirth. “Breaking the engagement is fine.” “But—” Caden froze. He hadn’t expected me to agree so calmly. In the moment he was stunned, I grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table and unscrewed the cap as fast as I could. The sherry-brown liquid splashed out. The rich kids who mocked me were now covered in alcohol, looking pathetic. Including Caden. He looked down, lashes trembling, his expensive shirt and watch ruined. I wrung out my dripping hair and met his disbelieving gaze. Word by word, I said: “Now we’re even.” Amidst the gasps. I didn’t stay a second longer, turning and leaving decisively.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388975”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year our parents died, the family company was on the brink of bankruptcy. I cut ties with my older sister when she was at her lowest point. Five years later, her company went public. She became successful and famous, the CEO everyone looked up to. When a reporter asked who she was most grateful to over these years, her expression was cold, her tone mocking. “The brother who abandoned me for money.” “Oh, he doesn’t count as my brother anymore. How is he doing?” 1 The reporter launched a nationwide search for CEO Harper Vance’s brother. The reward was ten million dollars. But they didn’t find me. They only found the diary I kept before I died. When the reporter handed the diary to my sister, Harper Vance, she froze. Her hands trembled as she took it. But a second later, she threw the diary into the trash can. Her tone was contemptuous. “Is this Liam’s new trick?” “Or did you guys make this up for TV ratings?” The reporter shook her head. She carefully picked up my diary. She brushed off the accumulated dust. “This is indeed the diary your brother kept before he died. As for his body, it was cremated. Since no one claimed it or arranged a burial, the crematorium handled it…” Before she could finish, my sister stood up in a rage. “Don’t think I’ll forgive him just because he’s playing these games!” “Go tell Liam that I have a new brother now. He means nothing to me! Even if he’s dead, I won’t care!” The reporter looked at her with difficulty, finally negotiating, “Then, what should we do with this diary?” My sister, Harper, sneered. “Read it. I want to see what kind of lies he spun.” 2 [Goodbye, Sister. April 1, 2019] Hello, Diary. From now on, please take care of me. You’re the only one keeping me company. … Let me tell you, today, before I ran away from home with all the gifts Mom, Dad, and my sister bought me, I got caught by my sister. I didn’t want to confront her. I just wanted to leave quietly. But my sister was annoying. She grabbed my hand and told me not to leave, saying she only had me left as family. In that moment, my heart trembled. But I still questioned her with a cold face. “The company is bankrupt. Can you still buy me the sneakers I like?” “I spend money like water. Can you still afford me?” “Instead of living with you, trying to save money every day and living this bitter life, I’d rather find a sugar mommy who’s willing to support me.” “I happen to know one.” But my sister got even more anxious. She asked who it was and told me not to be deceived. She also said she would work harder and earn lots and lots of money, promising to give me the princely life I had before. But guess what I said? I said: “If I’m willing to be deceived, is it any of your business?” “If you have the ability and money to support me, I’ll still be your good brother, and I’ll come home. But when will you have money?” My sister, who cared so much about her pride. To keep me, she actually knelt down. It was quite pathetic. I turned my face away and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye while she wasn’t looking. I even slapped her, telling her not to pester me and not to delay my future. I even threatened to cut ties with her. … That slap really stunned my sister. She froze, watching helplessly as I dragged my luggage away. … I’m sorry, Sister. It must have hurt. … Reading this page, the reporter took a deep breath. “I didn’t expect CEO Vance to love her brother so much.” But when the camera turned to my sister, her expression showed no emotion, remaining cold. She just said lightly, “I regret it.” Pausing, she added, “I regret treating him so well before.” “I raised an ungrateful wolf.” 3 [Hospital Checkup. April 5, 2019] Diary, I’m here again. Today I went to another hospital for further examination. Actually, how I wished the previous diagnosis was a mistake. That way, I could go back and tell my sister I regretted it. As long as I softened up and acted cute, my sister would forgive me like before. But where are all the miracles in life? The doctor, an older man, looked at me seriously. “Where are your parents? Primary liver cancer, late stage. You need to be hospitalized immediately.” Actually, I didn’t understand. But the fear of death still made me cry. I’m only seventeen. The doctor looked at me with sympathy and wrote me a hospitalization payment slip. I ran to the payment machine to take a look. In the end, I snuck out of the hospital. Forget it. My card is linked to my sister’s main account. Let me save her some money. Anyway, I’m going to die soon. Why waste my sister’s money? Her money is hard-earned. … Ever since the contractor Mom and Dad worked with ran away, the project imploded, the capital chain broke, and Mom and Dad died in a car accident while rushing around due to immense pressure. The company’s affairs fell on my sister’s shoulders. I saw with my own eyes the debt collectors moving valuable things out of the house to get money. And my sister, to leave me the tens of thousands for studying abroad, knelt on the ground and kowtowed to people. But in the end, the assets were still taken by the bank. To support me, to pay off the debts, my sister borrowed money everywhere, drank alcohol until she was hospitalized, but she had no time to see a doctor, nor money for treatment. Once sober, she left the hospital to continue running business errands. Begging everyone like a grandson. I cried and begged her to wait until she recovered to work, but she said she was made of iron and would be fine. Don’t you think my sister is kind of silly? Actually, I wanted to share the burden with her. I wanted to tell my sister I didn’t need to study abroad, and I wasn’t the pampered rich kid anymore. I could do without anything, and I could work part-time to support her. But unexpectedly, at such a critical moment, I got the most expensive illness. … Diary, do you also think I’m useless? The reporter’s eyes were red. “It seems your brother did have hidden reasons for leaving you back then.” “Getting liver cancer at such a young age, how pitiful.” Harper sneered. “This sympathy card is played well.” “Reporter Lin, don’t be fooled by him. Liam is the best at lying.” “When he was little, to skip school, he lied to Mom and Dad that his stomach hurt, scaring our whole family into running around him and sending him to the hospital. His acting has always been good.” The reporter smiled bitterly. After a sigh, she only said, “Let’s hope so.” 4 [No Money, So Much Pain. April 15, 2019] Diary, insomnia again last night. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, it’s just too painful to sleep. The illness is getting worse. Without painkillers, I really can’t endure it. But I have no money. But now there’s something more important. If I don’t pay rent, the landlord will kick me out. I’m really going to experience sleeping under a bridge like I joked with my sister when I was little. I used to read wuxia novels and think it was cool for heroes to sleep under bridges, but now that I’m grown up, I’m scared. No money to spend. I had to list the gifts Mom and Dad gave me on eBay. Those were the few things I brought out. But when someone actually inquired, I always refused with various excuses. In the end, I couldn’t bear to part with them. Finally, in pain and hungry, I couldn’t help it and withdrew five hundred from the card. Sister, I’m sorry. I spent your money again. Being poor cured my picky eating habit. When I was about to faint from hunger, I even picked up dirty buns someone threw in the trash to eat. Actually, they were quite tasty. It seems poverty can cure all prince diseases. I went to the supermarket and bought a bag of steamed buns, a gallon of water, and went to the pharmacy to buy some painkillers. The rest, I’ll save for rent. My teacher called me again. She advised me to study hard. With my good grades, suddenly skipping class is bad. I was afraid she would contact my sister, so I proposed dropping out. But the teacher still called my sister. Just now, my sister called me. Her tone was stiff and cold. “Liam, I know you don’t want to be involved with me. I don’t care what woman you’re clinging to, but you shouldn’t give up your studies, which you were so proud of, for her.” “Being so depraved, are you worthy of Mom and Dad?” It had only been ten days since I heard my sister’s voice, but it felt like half a lifetime. I covered my mouth to stop myself from crying out. But the tears wouldn’t stop. Sister, I miss you so much. … My sister on the other end of the phone got impatient waiting and dropped another sentence. “If you keep this up, I really won’t care about you anymore.” My sister hung up. But I cried for a long time. Diary, I’d better block my sister. I’ll go handle the dropout procedures tomorrow.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388974”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sugar momma’s first love, her “white moonlight,” returned from abroad. Everyone laughed. They said Claire Vance would toss me, the substitute, aside for him. But her “first love” dragged me to get a DNA test. “You guys look way too alike. I don’t believe there’s no blood relation.” That day, I discovered I was the long-lost heir to a billion-dollar fortune. 1 Claire Vance’s first love, Liam Thorne, was back in town. He dragged me to the hospital for a paternity test. While waiting for the results, I sat on a bench in the sterile hallway. To my left was Claire Vance, the domineering CEO who was keeping me. To my right was Liam Thorne, her unforgettable first love. I was sandwiched between them, sitting straight as a board. I didn’t dare move. Not an inch! I felt like a third wheel charged with 100,000 volts, utterly superfluous. I tried to move to another seat, but as soon as I started to rise, Claire and Liam each clamped a hand on my shoulders, forcing me back down. Claire: “Sit down. Don’t wander off.” Liam: “Sit. Wait for the results.” I sat back down timidly, squeezed between them like the pickle in a sandwich. The doctor pushed open the door, holding the report. Doctor: “Mr. Thorne, the results are in.” Liam stood up: “How is it? Is there a relation?” The doctor answered Liam: “Yes. He is your long-lost biological brother.” !!! I was shocked and instinctively pinched Claire’s thigh. Claire glanced at me but said nothing. Liam sighed in relief: “Good. My own brother.” I wanted to say something but stopped. Liam sighed: “The pressure of inheriting the family’s billions all by myself was too much. Now, finally, there’s someone to share the burden.” He gently stuffed a Black Card into my hand. “This card is yours from now on. I transferred fifty million dollars for your allowance. Spend it however you like.” For a moment, I forgot how to refuse! So, my mom wasn’t lying when she said I was picked up from a dumpster! I took the card with trembling hands, moved to tears! “Thanks, bro.” After all these years, my billionaire brother finally found me! 2 I shamelessly asked my brother: “Bro, can I use this money to get a sugar baby?” Claire frowned slightly. Liam answered: “You can get ten if you want.” My eyes lit up, and I fawned over my brother: “Bro, I’ll take you to party with models! I’ll order ten models for you!” Liam’s eyes lit up too: “Models? Sure. Good brother, you really get me. I’ll order twenty models for you to play with!” My eyes shone like a rural bachelor who hadn’t seen a woman in eight hundred years. Claire facepalmed and grabbed my collar: “Ethan Woods, don’t forget the contract.” Oh right, I signed a three-year sugar baby contract with Claire. It stated that during the period, I couldn’t have inappropriate relationships with other women. The contract still had a week left. I looked down at the fifty million in the card and said with confidence: “Sorry, I’m breaching the contract.” Claire said: “Fine. The penalty is one hundred million.” I panicked and immediately changed my tune: “Sorry, my bad.” Liam frowned slightly and asked me: “What contract?” I stammered. Liam narrowed his eyes, pulled me behind him, and questioned Claire: “Miss Vance, I heard rumors in the circle that you’re keeping my brother?” Claire answered: “I’m not keeping him.” She frowned and asked: “Who told you that?” Liam sneered: “Everyone says so.” He asked: “Then what’s that contract you just mentioned?” I whispered: “Sugar baby contract.” Claire answered: “Dating contract.” Me: “?!!” Claire: “…?” 3 I was shocked!! Claire also paused, then realizing something, she asked me with a dark face: “Sugar baby contract? Who told you that?” I looked confused: “Haven’t you been keeping me for three years?” Claire facepalmed: “No… I didn’t keep you. That was a dating contract.” Liam frowned: “Who signs a contract to date?” Claire: “I thought signing a contract would show how much I value this relationship.” I hesitated: “Your value means transferring fifty thousand a month to me and then sleeping with me?” Claire: “…” Claire’s expression was complicated; she wanted to speak but stopped. Liam looked at Claire with scrutiny: “Miss Vance, sugar baby agreements are illegal and theoretically invalid. If you insist, I’ll have to call the police.” Claire sighed: “I wasn’t keeping him. The fifty thousand was a monthly dating allowance.” She said: “…I thought sexual activity during dating was normal, so I didn’t think much of it.” “Sorry, I didn’t consider it thoroughly enough and caused a misunderstanding. I apologize. That kind of thing should happen after marriage.” The hospital wasn’t a good place for this conversation. Liam adjusted his coat and said to me: “You decide.” I whispered: “Um, since it’s a dating contract, can I take a week off?” The contract had one week left. Taking a week off would seamlessly transition me into partying with models. Claire pursed her lips and answered: “Yes.” After Claire agreed, Liam and I left the hospital and drove his luxury car to see my mom. Liam drove and said: “I think… Claire isn’t trustworthy. She’s not a good person. Don’t contact her anymore.” Damn dating contract, who believes that! I felt guilty: “Actually, I think she’s a good person.” Liam raised an eyebrow: “How so?” Me: “When my mom was sick and we had no money, she paid the medical bills. Without her help, my mom wouldn’t have made it.” Liam: “So she kept you…” I touched my nose, answering awkwardly: “Because she paid my mom’s medical bills, I didn’t refuse when she wanted to keep me.” It was all about repaying a debt of gratitude. Liam thought for a moment and said: “When the contract ends, I’ll give you money to keep her back.” I thought for a moment and said to him: “Bro, is it possible she likes you?” Claire’s white moonlight was my brother, and I was just a substitute. If I kept her, wouldn’t that be weird? Liam slammed on the brakes, and my head hit the dashboard hard. Ouch. Liam stopped the car, expression complicated: “Impossible! Absolutely impossible! You’re wrong.” Me: “She really likes you.” He hesitated and said: “I dated her sister and almost became her brother-in-law. She shouldn’t… be that twisted, right?” My pupils quaked, trembling: “Bro… you…” Liam calmly evaluated: “If she really has feelings for me, she’s a pervert.” I hesitated: “Maybe she really is a pervert?” Liam gasped: “Stay away from perverts!” The car started again. Liam thought for a long time and said faintly: “Actually, I think… that contract might really be a dating contract…” I also said faintly: “Impossible, bro. Absolutely impossible!” The car fell silent; Liam and I were speechless. Liam hesitated: “But still, maybe she has you in her heart?” Me: “Maybe her heart split in two, half loving you, half loving me.” Liam: “Hiss!” 4 The car arrived downstairs at my place. Liam went with me to see my mom, politely called her Mom, and explained the DNA test. Liam: “My grandmother favored boys and was superstitious. She thought twins were bad luck, so when my brother was born, she secretly took him away and abandoned him. “I didn’t know about his existence until half a year ago when Grandma was hospitalized. She confessed it in her delirium. That’s when I knew my brother suffered so much outside because of her.” He recognized my mom as his godmother: “You are Ethan’s mother, and also mine. I will honor you with Ethan in the future.” My mom looked at Liam’s face, identical to mine, and accepted my brother as her godson. After handling things here, Liam took me back to the Thorne family to see my biological parents. Liam comforted me: “Don’t be nervous. Mom and Dad are very nice.” My billionaire parents were indeed nice, as Liam said, and very enthusiastic towards me. Billionaire Dad: “Transferring twenty percent of the company shares to you. The new commercial land development is also yours!” Billionaire Mom: “My precious son suffered outside. Mom is transferring eighty million to your card right now!” When they learned about Claire from the secretary’s report, Billionaire Dad was furious. “She dares to keep you?! “I’ll arrange ten blind dates for you immediately. Dump her!” Billionaire Dad meant what he said. The next day, I was forced to sit in a cafe, having a blind date with ten beautiful women with hot figures and superior backgrounds at a large round table.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388973”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My childhood sweetheart went bankrupt and sold me to the city’s notorious “Crown Prince” billionaire to clear his debt. Later, we met again at a business gala. My ex, trying to sound considerate, told the Prince that I was aloof and proud, asking him to “bear with me.” The Prince scoffed coldly. “Bear with her? If I don’t speak, she doesn’t dare say a word.” Everyone praised the Prince for having me so well-trained. The next moment, I pushed open the door. I sat down; he wiped the chair for me. I licked my lips; he handed me tea. I frowned; he draped his jacket over my shoulders. … Everyone: “???” Indeed, I didn’t have to say a single word! The Prince glanced proudly at my ex, whose face had turned black. “Rookie. If you can’t handle a woman, just say so.” 1 I never expected to run into Liam again at the TV station. Three years had passed, and he was now a rising star in the business world. The desperate, broken man from back then was gone. After the interview, he stopped me. “Sarah, long time no see.” Liam’s hand at his side clenched involuntarily. His voice was hoarse. “Does… does he treat you well?” I paused while organizing my script, not answering. Seeing I didn’t want to talk about it, Liam hurriedly changed the subject. “Sarah, I haven’t congratulated you on becoming a famous anchor.” His gaze lingered on me with a hint of nostalgia. “When we were young, the future we dreamed of was exactly like today…” I looked up, my cool gaze silencing him. Just as he was about to say something else in frustration, my assistant rushed over. “Sarah, are you ready? Mr. Vance is here to pick you up.” “He doesn’t look very happy.” I froze for a second, immediately putting down my things. “I’m coming.” Before I could take two steps, Liam instinctively grabbed my arm. “Sarah, if you’re unhappy, I can find a way to get you out. I…” I cut him off before he could finish. “And then what? Sell me again like you did back then?” I looked at Liam with pure mockery in my eyes. “You were the one who personally delivered me to him, remember?” 2 Liam and I grew up together. We were the high school sweethearts everyone envied. Everything changed the year Liam’s startup failed during our junior year of college. He needed a huge sum of money to balance the books. It was a debt our middle-class families couldn’t pay even if we sold everything we owned. At that time, Christian Vance, the “Crown Prince” of the city’s wealthiest family, posted a job listing. — Ten million dollars for a “Sleep Companion.” Requirements: Same age, same school. Consistent winner of speech contests since elementary school. Currently working at the campus radio station. He even specified height, weight, and hairstyle. It was detailed enough that he might as well have written my name. The campus forum exploded. Someone leaked that the Prince indeed suffered from severe insomnia. But hiring a “sleep companion” instead of seeing a doctor? What was that about? Most people thought it was just his way of pursuing me. Just as I was about to go clarify things with Christian, Liam stopped me. He said, “Sarah, I’ve never asked you for anything growing up.” “This time, only you can save me.” … “What are you standing there thinking about?” Christian grabbed my waist and lifted me into the car with one arm. “Is everyone at your station dead?” He held my cold hands, his face dark enough to drip ink. “Is a small interview like this worth leaving me and standing in the cold wind?” “Don’t tell me it was to see some long-lost childhood brother?” I was about to explain. A spoon was shoved into my mouth. Christian held a thermos of pear soup, looking fierce. “Before you finish this soup, don’t say a word!” By the time I was allowed to speak, the car had arrived at his residence. Christian silently dragged me to the dining table and forced me to eat an extra half bowl of rice. “I’ve fed you for three years and you still lost a pound.” “People will think I’m abusing you!” As he spoke, he pulled out a book from somewhere. “Tonight, I want to hear this one!” It was the fairy tale I read when we first met three years ago. The Little Mermaid. 3 Everyone knew the Prince had a bad temper and was moody. From the night I entered his villa, people placed bets. Betting I would be tortured and broken. But it was different from what they imagined. The moment I walked in, a fairy tale book was thrown in front of me. Christian sat on the sofa, eyes half-closed, beckoning me. “What are you staring at? I want to hear Cinderella… no, Snow White…” Realizing his slip of the tongue, he clicked his tongue impatiently. “Let’s just hear the one about the girl who got tricked by a scumbag and turned into sea foam.” I picked up the book and sat cross-legged in front of the sofa. The Little Mermaid isn’t long. Christian was not a quiet listener. He made faces the whole time. Only when the story ended did he lift his eyelids and look at me coolly. “Any insights?” I closed the book and suddenly leaned forward. My hands covered Christian’s bloodshot eyes. “Little Prince, you need to sleep.” Since then, I never saw that book again. Christian seemed to recall the past too. “You still owe me that book report! Double it! No, triple it! I want a three-thousand-word essay!” I was silent for a moment, then decisively explained to the jealous man. “I only knew the interviewee was Liam when I arrived.” “I have no lingering feelings, no romantic nostalgia…” Seeing Christian’s unmoved expression, I helplessly held up my fingers. “I swear, I’ll never see him again.” … I finally coaxed him back to a good mood. I swore the oath. Unexpectedly, I bumped into Liam again. Only this time, it was at a business dinner accompanying Christian. I didn’t like the atmosphere in the private room, so I went out for air. When I came back, people from the next room were coming in to network. Christian’s temper was notorious. People didn’t expect a response; they just toasted three times to show face. When it was Liam’s turn, his brain short-circuited. He bowed slightly to the man playing on his phone. “Sarah grew up sheltered, so her personality is inevitably aloof and proud.” “If she offends you in any way, please bear with her, Mr. Vance.” Hearing this, Christian put down his phone and leaned back. He glanced at Liam casually. “Bear with her?” He repeated the words and suddenly laughed. “If I don’t speak, she doesn’t dare say a word.” “What do you want me to bear?” 4 Liam’s expression froze instantly. Everyone stared at the floor in silence, expressions awkward. The next person ready to toast froze with his glass in mid-air, wiped sweat from his forehead, and offered a fake compliment. “Mr. Vance has great discipline methods. Admirable.” Others recovered and chimed in. “Exactly. Aloof and proud mean nothing. In front of Mr. Vance, she’s willing to bow down.” Christian frowned. Before he could speak, I pushed the door open. Before I even reached Christian, he kicked away someone blocking the path. He picked up his expensive suit jacket, wiped the chair, wasn’t satisfied, flipped the jacket inside out to expose the soft lining, and spread it on the chair. I sat down without changing my expression. I licked my dry lips. Before I could speak, a cup of hot tea was brought to my lips. Everyone looked at each other. Those who had just flattered him wished they could swallow their words. Christian’s gaze swept over the crowd, finally landing on Liam’s darkening face. He grinned, a truly malicious smile. “Rookie. If you can’t handle it, just say so.” After the provocation, he even had a seat added for Liam, right opposite us. At home, Christian liked to supervise my eating. Here, he was serving me excessively. Peeling shrimp, picking out fish bones. If I glanced at a dish, it appeared in my bowl the next second. If I frowned while eating, he naturally took away the dish I didn’t like. Throughout the meal, I didn’t say a word. Christian had enough fun and was in a good mood. “Except for the three who can’t talk, other projects can appear on my desk.” Everyone was overjoyed, stuffing proposals into the hands of the silent assistant. While doing so, they spouted blessings like “hundred years of harmony” and “grow old together.” They were smart enough to see Christian didn’t want to socialize, so they left quickly. The room emptied instantly. However, one tactless person remained. Liam walked up to me, adjusted his glasses, and smiled gently. “Sarah, Auntie Ye just messaged me. She made hangover soup for me.” Ignoring Christian’s expression of wanting to crush his glass, he continued: “She also said she plans to settle our engagement tonight…” My heart skipped a beat. I looked up at Christian abruptly. He was still smiling, but it sent chills down my spine. “Christian, listen to me…” “Childhood sweethearts, and an engagement,” Christian interrupted with a sneer. “People might think I’m despicable, rushing to be a homewrecker.” He dropped those words and stormed out, slamming the door. The room was quiet again. Liam frowned. “Does he always treat you like this?” “Sarah, I’m back. You don’t have to endure his temper anymore…” Bang— Before Liam could finish, the door was kicked hard. A waitress appeared at the door timidly. “The boss wants us to clean the room. Please, please leave immediately.” Needless to say, Christian caused the commotion. I chased after him to explain but was a step too late. Only the roar of a luxury car speeding away remained on the quiet street. Seeing this, Liam suggested, “Let me take you home.” I held my forehead, voice filled with suppressed irritation. “What are you doing? What right do you have to provoke him?” “Are you worried about me, Sarah?” “Liam!” I was thoroughly enraged. He laughed indifferently. “Let’s go, the designated driver is here. We’ll talk when we get back.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388972”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend had a stepsister who was diagnosed with a serious illness. He begged me to sell the house I just got from the demolition compensation to pay for her treatment. “It’s a matter of life and death. Help her this once, please?” His words didn’t move me in the slightest. Thinking of the scene I just witnessed, him secretly kissing this so-called sister, I only felt disgusted. 1 I got five apartments from the demolition compensation. Soon after, my boyfriend, Liam Chen, gave up his guaranteed spot for a master’s degree at Stanford and found a job locally, saying he didn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship anymore. Today was our first night living together. As soon as the door closed, Liam pressed my wrist, kissing down from my earlobe. In a trance, I suddenly remembered my best friend asking me a few days ago if I remembered Lia Chen, Liam’s stepsister. “I heard she was diagnosd with a serious illness recently. The treatment cost shouldn’t be a small amount.” “You guys were long-distance for three years, and he never mentioned coming here to develop his career. But as soon as your family got the demolition compensation, he came over?” “And he had to give up a guaranteed spot at Stanford. That’s Stanford…” Finally, I couldn’t hold back. When his hand was on my waist, I called him, “Liam.” “Hmm?” “Why did you suddenly give up the guaranteed admission?” Liam paused slightly, looked up at me, and said word by word, “Chloe Zhou, I’m not after your money.” “What about Lia?” “What does it have to do with her?” Liam’s voice lowered, obviously displeased. Looking at his darkened eyes, a trace of uneasiness arose in my heart. Once, I secretly went to New York to find Liam, wanting to give him a surprise. Unexpectedly, downstairs at his dorm, I saw Lia hugging him from behind. “You’re with her just to piss me off, right?” “Of course not.” Liam quickly pushed her away. “How can you compare to her?” I was shocked at the time. Lia actually had such feelings for him. But fortunately, Liam seemed very repulsed. “Babe.” Liam leaned over silently, interrupting this topic with practical action. “Been long-distance for so long, you miss me too, right?” His voice went past my ear, carrying a subtle hint, soft and teasing. He had never treated me like this before. In our three years of dating, we never crossed the line. He said that kind of thing should wait until marriage. My body immediately felt tingly like an electric shock, and my thoughts went haywire. 2 The atmosphere was right, and I subconsciously asked again, “How much is Lia’s surgery fee?” “Chloe, I’ll say it again, I’m not after your money.” “Giving up the guaranteed admission is because I negotiated a project with a company here, and they promised to give me five percent equity.” “After the project is completed, I will continue my master’s degree.” Liam looked down at me. Both his expression and tone were very frank. But one thing was, from beginning to end, he was deliberately avoiding topics related to Lia. I wanted to say something else, but his kiss landed fiercely. “It’s so good that all of Chloe’s firsts were given to me.” Hearing his faint laughter, I blushed and retorted, “Aren’t yours too?” Liam obviously stiffened. Liam’s phone rang inappropriately. It was Lia. As soon as the call connected, Lia’s loud crying came from the other end. “Brother, it hurts so much. Do you think I’m going to die…” “Can you come over and accompany me, please?” Liam hung up abruptly. The warm yellow light of the bedside lamp extended to his lowered eyelashes. His quiet appearance made me flustered. “Are you going to the hospital?” He suddenly pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my hair. “Not going. I’ll stay right here. Sleep.” … It seemed to rain heavily in the second half of the night. Woken up by thunder, I instinctively turned over to find Liam. There was no one beside me. Not only the bedroom, I searched the whole house and didn’t see him. Liam was not at home. I sat blankly on the sofa all night, dialing Liam’s phone countless times during the period. No one answered. My emotions suddenly became incredibly anxious, dialing nonstop. The tenth time, the phone rang once, and then, it was hung up by the other side. 3 Waking up on the sofa the next day, the sky was still dim, and there was an extra thin blanket on my body. The sound of淅沥 water came from the bathroom in the master bedroom. It should be Liam who came back and was taking a shower. Stepping towards the bedroom with weak steps, I needed an explanation from him. The lights were on inside, and the door was ajar. I saw an unfamiliar profile. It was actually Lia. She was carefully tidying up the clothes Liam had just taken off on the bed, without any taboo. Blue tie, white shirt, black trousers… Even the most private ones, dark blue boxer briefs. Her movements were incredibly skilled, as if she had done this countless times. “Lia, pass me the clothes.” Liam’s voice came from the bathroom. Lia skillfully took out a new pair of boxer briefs from the closet and handed them through the crack of the bathroom door. Liam also took them very naturally. This scene stunned me directly. Even Lia didn’t notice when I walked over. “Did you sleep well on the sofa?” “I’m really sorry. Just now, my brother intended to carry you to the bed to sleep. Who made me happen to feel unwell? My brother felt distress for me so he…” She deliberately paused before making a soft tsk sound, “I have to say, my brother’s bed is really soft.” “Put away your thoughts.” I interrupted her coldly, “Liam will explain this to me. No need for you to add oil and vinegar.” Although I said so, my mind couldn’t help but recall the scene just now. This… didn’t look like siblings, more like lovers. “A girlfriend would do things like tidying up private clothes. Don’t bother yourself as a sister.” “Girlfriend? You don’t think my brother genuinely likes you, do you?” “I heard you secretly crushed on my brother for many years before?” She looked me up and down with that disdainful look. I looked at her, completely stunned. This matter has always been my secret. How did she know? In school, Liam was quite famous. Good-looking, good grades, just a bit aloof. We were desk mates. I silently liked him for several years but didn’t dare to confess. During the freshman winter break, at an old classmates gathering, it was very sudden that Liam confessed to me, and we naturally got together. I heard Liam’s father remarried that year too. “Of course my brother told me.” She seemed to see through my thoughts at a glance and laughed very proudly. I stood frozen in place, almost overwhelmed by a huge sense of shame. Lia still wouldn’t let me go, her tone very arrogant, “To raise money for my surgery, my brother was even willing to give up the Stanford guaranteed admission.” “So what if you’re a girlfriend? In his heart, can you compare to me?” “Also not right, he has never touched you, what kind of girlfriend are you.” “Do you know he and I—” “Enough.” I didn’t want to listen and turned to leave. Lia grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. “What, afraid to listen now?” I shook her off fiercely. A painful muffled groan came from behind. Lia fell wretchedly on the ground, her messy long hair covering half of her face, her lips white. This scene was happened to be seen by Liam who just came out of the bathroom. I could feel the coldness in his eyes very obviously. He walked over, grabbing my arm forcefully, pulling my whole body forward, “She’s a patient. Why are you bickering with her?” My arm was pinched painfully. Liam seemed completely unaware, his face full of anger. “Brother…” Liam instantly flung me away. I clutched my arm and staggered a few steps, watching helplessly as he picked Lia up in his arms and hurried out of the bedroom. 4 Liam didn’t come back all day. I heard that in the evening, Lia started vomiting blood uncontrollably without warning and was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. When I got there, Liam was standing straight outside the operating room. Beside him, Lia’s mother was crying with her face covered. “Liam.” I called him. He stood still, as if he didn’t hear. Minutes later, the doors to the operating room were pushed open, and a nurse hurried out. “The spare blood is used up. Is anyone here type B blood?” Lia’s mother almost fainted hearing this. “Neither he nor I are.” Liam turned to look at me. “Chloe, you’re type B blood.” “I have anemia, did you forget?” I asked him. People with severe anemia are not suitable for blood donation; there is a risk of inducing myocardial infarction and cerebral infarction. Liam knew about this. When he found out I had anemia before, Liam asked very slightly, “Anemia is so severe, why didn’t you tell me?” He said, “Chloe, I will slowly understand you little by little in the future.” At that moment, his guilt and pity were genuine. Unfortunately now, he even forgot I had anemia. After I reminded him, not only did he not feel guilty at all, but his tone also began to become impatient, “You need to distinguish which is more important.” “I won’t joke with my own life.” I replied decisively. “If you hadn’t pushed her this morning, how could she suddenly have an attack?” He said accusingly. “That was because she—” Before I could finish, I was interrupted coldly by Liam, “Chloe, people have to be responsible for their own actions.” Looking at his calm and composed face, I couldn’t tell if I was angry or sad. In the stalemate interval, another nurse ran over and said they found spare blood in the blood bank again. The operating lights lit up again. Until the operation ended, Liam and I didn’t say another word. Hearing the doctor say Lia was fine, I left. Returning to Liam’s house, I began packing my things. One of the apartments I got from the demolition was renovated, I intended to move there. Contacting the moving company and scheduling the moving time, it was already past midnight. Suddenly received Lia’s friend request, “Tell you something.” Hesitated for a few seconds, still approved it. Lia immediately sent a sentence: “I fell on purpose.” Before I could react, she withdrew it in seconds. Another sentence came, “With your IQ, you probably haven’t had time to take a screenshot yet, right?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388971”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend tried to drag me into a suicide pact with him. Not only did I refuse to die, but I held his head underwater and drowned him myself. Forty years ago, our love was forbidden by social norms, so he asked me to jump into the river with him to end it all. Julian died, but I was rescued. Filled with guilt and pain, I lived a miserable, lonely life, working myself to the bone to support Julian’s parents and younger brother. But forty years later, as I lay dying in a hospital bed, broken and sick… Julian, who was supposed to be dead, suddenly appeared before me, alive and well, hand-in-hand with an elegant, educated woman who had aged gracefully. “One fake death and you were fooled for decades. A stupid woman like you actually thought I could love her?” “But thanks anyway. If you hadn’t supported my family, I wouldn’t have had the peace of mind to take the college entrance exams, and I wouldn’t have had the chance to live happily ever after with my sweet Sarah.” “Oh, by the way, Toby isn’t my little brother. He’s actually mine and Sarah’s son! We had him before I even met you!” They kissed passionately in front of me, and I died consumed by monstrous hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I was back forty years ago, on the day Julian dragged me to commit suicide. 1 “Hannah! Let’s meet again in the next life!” The familiar voice from my memory echoed in my ears, accompanied by the chill of river water. Before I could even react, the man in front of me jumped in with a splash. Looking at his face, rage instantly erupted in my heart. It was Julian! How did he suddenly become so young? And this river… isn’t this the same one where he tried to commit suicide with me forty years ago? Was I reborn? I didn’t have time to think. I walked straight up to him. If you like playing dead so much, then play dead forever! As he dipped his head underwater, I whispered something next to him. “Her name is Sarah, right?” His body trembled violently, trying to lift his head, but I was already holding it down firmly under the surface. I was a rough country girl. I didn’t have book smarts, but I had strength from years of farm work. Julian was an intellectual who spent his days buried in books. He was skinny as a rail and no match for me. He thrashed wildly in the water, his body tensing from the pain of suffocation. “Toby isn’t your brother at all, is he? He’s your son with Sarah! Did you take me for a fool?” “Rest assured, I won’t support your parents or your son. Not a single one! As for your lover, I’ll make her pay!” “And you… go in peace!” By the end, my voice was trembling with a maniacal edge. The joy of revenge surged through my entire body. Only when Julian stopped moving completely did I let go. Before fear of my actions could set in, I plunged my head into the water. Even as I choked and sputtered, nearly breaking down, I couldn’t surface for a second. I couldn’t let passersby see anything unusual. It wasn’t until consciousness was slipping away that I heard shouts from the bank. “Help! Someone jumped in the river!” 2 When I was revived, a slap landed hard across my face. It was Julian’s mother, Mrs. Vance, glaring at me with fury. Behind her was a large coffin. “You animal! You killed my son! You heartless wretch!” Then, she and her husband, Mr. Vance, started kicking and punching me. If people hadn’t pulled them off, my frail body would have been beaten to death right there. “Where’s Julian? How is he?” I feigned anxiety, asking what I already knew. “Julian is dead! Are you happy now?” Mrs. Vance spat at me, but she couldn’t hide the triumphant glint in her eyes. It seemed she didn’t know her son was actually dead. “You slut, how do you have the nerve to live? Crawl over here and kowtow to Julian!” Then, Mrs. Vance and Mr. Vance rushed forward, pinning me down in front of the coffin. They slammed my face into the dirt as if venting their rage, nearly breaking my nose. Luckily, the town mayor intervened just in time, saving my nose. “What is wrong with you young people? Always so dramatic about life and death. Now look what happened. A fine young man, an intellectual, gone just like that.” “Hannah, since you survived, you must carry Julian’s will. Don’t do anything foolish again!” The mayor sighed with regret. Meanwhile, Mrs. Vance fell to her knees, wailing theatrically. “My poor son! Now that you’re gone, how will your father, your brother, and I live? Hannah, if you have any conscience, you’ll take Julian’s place and support us. From now on, you hand over all your wages!” “And sell whatever valuables you have at home! Didn’t your mother leave you a jade bracelet?” As she cried, her greed became undisguised. Already eyeing my family heirloom? I glanced at her coldly, then walked straight to the coffin. I opened the lid a crack. Julian’s face was gray, his lips purple. There was no coming back from that. Good. I was relieved. With that thought, I threw myself onto the coffin and let out a heart-wrenching wail. “Julian! It’s all my fault! I killed you!” Hearing me, Mrs. Vance almost laughed out loud. She said shamelessly, “Don’t think putting on this show makes you my daughter-in-law. You? A stupid country bumpkin like you isn’t even fit to be Julian’s maid! But… if you’re obedient and serve us well, maybe I’ll be generous and give you a title!” Looking at her face, I suppressed the urge to slap her and nodded tearfully. “Don’t worry, I will. But before Julian is buried, I have one request.” I looked at the mayor and said decisively. “Julian dedicated his life to serving the country. He was progressive and forward-thinking. So I think… we should cremate him!” 3 “Good, good! A true progressive youth! I’ll arrange it immediately!” the mayor said excitedly. It was the 80s. Although cremation was becoming more common, it was still taboo in rural villages like ours. That’s why the mayor was so pleased with my “enlightened” stance. But Mrs. Vance wouldn’t have it. They knew their precious son was just playing dead inside! They rushed forward, blocking the coffin, cursing at me. “You bitch! You have bad intentions! You want to burn him when he’s already dead? Julian, you fool! How did you fall for such a demon?” I put on a pitiful face. “I just want to fulfill Julian’s wish.” The mayor chimed in. “Exactly. We’ve been educating everyone—burial harms the environment, cremation contributes to society. Julian would agree from the afterlife.” Mrs. Vance adamantly refused, rolling on the ground in a tantrum. “No! I don’t care! No cremation! Whoever burns my son, I’ll burn them!” Seeing this, the mayor had to give in. To him, she was just a pitiful old woman wanting to preserve her son’s body. Just then, a graceful figure walked over. “Hannah, I know you mean well, but have you considered Julian’s parents’ feelings? Don’t be so heartless.” I looked closely. Wasn’t this Sarah? In my past life, we were just acquaintances in the village. After Julian “died,” she left too. I never imagined she and Julian had a thing. Looking at her now, she wasn’t much different from the woman I saw by the hospital bed in my previous life. She stole the good life that should have been mine! The thought made my blood boil. Suddenly, a small child rushed up, kicking and punching me indiscriminately. “Bitch! Whore! You want to burn my brother! I’ll kill you!” It was Toby! Foul-mouthed and disrespectful. In my past life, filled with guilt toward their family, I tolerated Toby’s rudeness and tirelessly sent him money and care. Since he was an ungrateful wolf, I didn’t need to pretend to be gentle in this life. “Tsk, no manners, no upbringing. Needs a beating!” I slapped him hard across the face. 4 The slap stunned Toby. He stood there covering his face, bewildered. Mrs. Vance and Sarah screamed, both rushing to check on Toby with undeniable heartache in their eyes. “You shrew! How can you hit a child? Are you human?” Mrs. Vance yelled at me. “A child with such a filthy mouth needs discipline! Since I’m taking care of him for Julian, I have to be strict. Otherwise, what if he grows up to be a hoodlum or a rapist?” I said calmly. As expected, Sarah trembled with rage and retorted. “Your son will be the rapist! Toby doesn’t need you to discipline him!” She realized her slip and shut her mouth. I looked at her sideways and asked slowly. “Oh, Sarah, why is an outsider so concerned with our family affairs? Toby doesn’t need me… you mean, you’ll manage him?” Sarah blushed, stammering for a moment. “I… I just can’t stand your shrewish ways. No wonder Julian despised you…” “Oh, you know a lot about us. Wait, is there something going on between you two?” I asked with feigned surprise. “You’re spitting blood! A shrew like you would be despised by any man!” Sarah looked uncomfortable, guilt evident in her eyes. “In that case, I won’t bother. Mayor, could you please find a good family to adopt this child?” At this, Sarah and Mrs. Vance gasped again. Mrs. Vance almost blurted out the truth. “Are you crazy? Where are you sending my grand… son?” “Look, you two are old and frail. You can’t raise a child. I can’t afford to raise him either. Better to find him a good home where he won’t starve, right?” “Don’t worry, once I make money, I’ll bring Toby back!” I patted my chest, guaranteeing it. Sarah was shaking with anger, pointing at my nose. “You heartless woman! Toby lost his brother, and now you want him to lose his parents too? It’s just raising a child. You can work three jobs if you have to!” “Oh? Since Sarah finds it so easy, why don’t you work three jobs to raise him?” I laughed, patting her shoulder. “I… I… this is your responsibility!” Sarah raged. The mayor stepped in to mediate again. “Sarah is still young and has to marry. How can she drag a child along?” I immediately followed up. “Exactly! I have to marry too. Dragging a child along would be inconvenient. Let’s do as I said.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388970”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was Valentine’s Night, and I was scrolling through my feed when a viral thread caught my eye. “Couples: What is the single most romantic thing your partner has ever done for you?” I left a comment: “He would wait in line all night, sometimes until dawn, just to get me the one perfect dessert I craved.” But I didn’t finish the thought. Eight years ago, on a Valentine’s Night, that craving—that simple, selfish craving—was what he died trying to fulfill. The familiar, suffocating pressure seized my chest again. My eyes stung. I reached to close the app, but a new, anonymous reply popped up. “Funny coincidence. I think the most romantic thing my husband ever did was on a Valentine’s Night eight years ago, when his ex-wife wanted some ridiculous dessert and he secretly slipped away to be with me.” “While he was in the shower, I texted his wife and told her he’d been killed in a car crash.” “He knew and just went with it—faked his own death and has been laughing about it for eight years. LOL.” “The day his ex-wife tried to end her life because of depression, he was in a jewelry store with me, picking out my engagement ring.” A grainy, blurry photo of two backs was attached. My entire world narrowed down to the screen. The man in the picture, his posture, the width of his shoulders… it was Pierce. My husband, Pierce Nolan, who had been gone for eight years. 1 It was Valentine’s Night, and I was scrolling through my feed when a viral thread caught my eye. “Couples: What is the single most romantic thing your partner has ever done for you?” I left a comment: “He would wait in line all night, sometimes until dawn, just to get me the one perfect dessert I craved.” But I didn’t finish the thought. Eight years ago, on a Valentine’s Night, that craving—that simple, selfish craving—was what he died trying to fulfill. The familiar, suffocating pressure seized my chest again. My eyes stung. I reached to close the app, but a new, anonymous reply popped up. “Funny coincidence. I think the most romantic thing my husband ever did was on a Valentine’s Night eight years ago, when his ex-wife wanted some ridiculous dessert and he secretly slipped away to be with me.” “While he was in the shower, I texted his wife and told her he’d been killed in a car crash.” “He knew and just went with it—faked his own death and has been laughing about it for eight years. LOL.” “The day his ex-wife tried to end her life because of depression, he was in a jewelry store with me, picking out my engagement ring.” A grainy, blurry photo of two backs was attached. My entire world narrowed down to the screen. The man in the picture, his posture, the width of his shoulders… it was Pierce. My husband, Pierce Nolan, who had been gone for eight years. …… The thread exploded, immediately rocketing to the top of the trending list. Some people were furious, others defended the poster. “How is this romantic? Are you worried about the karmic backlash, lady?” “You drove his wife to suicidal depression, and you’re bragging about it? The audacity.” “Hold up, maybe the ex-wife was terrible. We don’t know the whole story.” “Yeah, I think the poster is brave. In love and war, there are no rules.” The comments section became a chaotic mess. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white and aching. The original poster—the mistress—replied again. “Thanks everyone. I posted this because I’m not afraid of judgment. Love is love. I’m happy now. I just found out I’m pregnant, and my husband treats me like a queen.” “He’s a famous entrepreneur in Newport, handsome and rich.” The post included a picture of a delicate hand, the ring finger sporting a magnificent, pigeon-egg sized diamond. I looked down at my own hands, dry and rough from years of neglecting myself, and it felt like a lifetime ago. She clearly wasn’t done. She tagged Pierce. He appeared almost instantly: “My wife is young and tends to be dramatic. Apologies for the commotion, folks.” She quickly shot back: “Hush! Stop embarrassing me in front of everyone!” “Wow, they’re so sweet. Must be true love.” “They seem like nice people; there must be a good reason he left the ex.” “Any woman who can’t tell if her husband is alive or dead must be both stupid and toxic.” Someone addressed Pierce directly: “Sir, have you ever contacted your ex-wife since you faked your death? Is she okay?” Pierce was silent for a long time. He didn’t answer. My head was spinning, a toxic cocktail of betrayal, fury, and utter humiliation burning through my veins. Just then, a notification popped up on a messaging app: “How are you holding up?” I froze. This account had been sending me short, restrained messages every holiday, every birthday, for the last three years: “Happy holiday. Wishing you well.” I always replied with a polite, stiff, “Thank you.” The familiar ellipsis would appear as they typed, only to disappear and be replaced by a single, curt, “Fine.” Only now did I realize that the profile picture was from the same artistic series Pierce used for his old accounts. I stared at the picture and laughed—a dry, humorless sound that quickly cracked into sobs. This was the eighth year he’d been gone, the eighth year I’d spent drowning in guilt and regret. He cheated, he lied, he faked his death, and now he asks how I am? I blocked the number, then went back to the viral thread. “Thank you all.” “I’m sorry to say it, but the ‘stupid and toxic ex-wife’ is me.” The entire thread went silent. Even Pierce and that woman stopped typing. I already knew who she was. Willow Chan. She was a student my mother had sponsored years ago. The girl who had once knelt on our doorstep, weeping, promising to repay our kindness for a lifetime. “WHOA! Ex-wife is here?!” “OMG, please tell us everything! We need the tea!” But I was too exhausted to reply. The man I loved most, the girl my mother treated like a daughter. They had conspired to ruin me for eight years. I stayed up all night. A thousand chaotic thoughts swirled: I wanted to storm their home, to scream, to lash out. I wanted to die again. But by morning, a strange, cold calm had settled over me. I reopened the thread, which was now a global news item. “Since you all want to hear it, I’ll tell you my story.” The first time I saw Pierce, he was rail-thin, practically starving. I was twenty-eight; he was twenty-one. His parents were gone, and his few relatives were pushing him away like damaged goods. My mother, Eleanor, took me to an inner-city school to pick the next student we would sponsor. I saw him immediately. He stood by a broken chain-link fence, his jaw set, his eyes burning with defiant ambition. I decided then that Pierce didn’t belong in that despair. “Him,” I said, pointing. My mother asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to see the others?” “No,” I said. “Just him.” That decision became the knot that tied our lives together for the next decade. It was Valentine’s Day. I brought him a small box of expensive chocolates. “For you,” I told him. “A celebration of a new start.” He took the box, his hands trembling slightly. “Reese,” he said, his voice husky, “I swear, no matter how far I go, I will never forget you.” He was brilliant and worked tirelessly. He got into an Ivy League school, but by his sophomore year, he refused any more money from my family. He studied and simultaneously started a small business. Within three years, he was a known name in logistics and international trading. The day of his graduation, he brought a huge bouquet of white lilies, knelt on one knee, and offered me a ring. “Reese,” he said. “You were the only light in my darkness. All I want is to keep you safe for the rest of my life.” Pierce was always a man of few words, but he always followed through. People would gossip, saying I was too old and plain for the handsome, up-and-coming Pierce Nolan. They called me the ‘Golden Ticket’ he rode to success. Pierce overheard one of them. That night, he beat the man so badly he landed in the ICU, and Pierce landed in the precinct. When I picked him up, his face was bruised, but he smiled through the pain and wiped my tears. “Why are you crying? You gave me my life. Dying for you would be worth it.” I said yes that day. We set the wedding for the following Valentine’s Day. “And then what? Did you get married as planned?” I lowered my eyes. “No. He ran.” Pierce, who had been silent, suddenly posted: “Reese, stop this.” “Why should I?” “Don’t listen to him, Ex-wife! The mistress was so vicious, and he didn’t stop her!” “He ran? Where did he go? Why did he bail?” I ignored Pierce and kept typing. “Every single guest knew the groom had disappeared. I was the old woman, publicly abandoned.” Pierce reappeared three days later. He knelt before me and begged for forgiveness. He said he’d never experienced anything that grand, that he was terrified. He said he felt he didn’t deserve me and panicked. He blamed his parents’ failed marriage for giving him a phobia of commitment. He promised to never hurt me again. I looked at his red, swollen eyes and my resolve crumbled. “The wedding doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “As long as we’re together.” The next day, we quietly went to City Hall and got married. No ceremony, no guests. Pierce held me tightly. “Reese, I will only ever love you.” Those were my happiest months. Until my mother sponsored another student: Willow Chan. Suddenly, the always-busy Pierce found time to drop by my mother’s home. I would sometimes find him and Willow sitting close, talking. They would reminisce about their humble beginnings, their shared memories of rural life—the stars, the simple food, the coldness of city people. They seemed like kindred spirits. One day, Pierce told me, “Willow can’t stay with Mom indefinitely. She’s not family.” A cold sliver of resentment pricked my heart. My mother, Eleanor, was elderly but had the long-time housekeeper, Doris, to help. Pierce’s comment felt manipulative, implying my mother was taking advantage. But I conceded: “Fine. You handle it.” He leased a small apartment near his office for Willow, claiming he didn’t want her to feel like she was ’begging for shelter.’ He even hired her as his personal assistant at his growing firm, Apex Group. I was four months pregnant then. Willow stood next to Pierce, smiling sweetly at me. “Reese, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your husband.” I missed the predatory glint in her eyes. Then came the next Valentine’s Day. I went to Pierce’s office to bring him a pot of my mother’s famous homemade soup. I pushed the office door open and saw them locked in a desperate kiss. “Pierce,” Willow whispered breathlessly. “Do you do this with Reese at home?” Pierce’s voice was low and rough: “She’s not like you young girls. She’s… not as good at playing the game.” The ceramic bowl slipped from my hands and shattered on the polished floor. I was shaking, reaching for a sharp piece of ceramic, ready to lunge. Pierce instinctively shoved me away, shielding Willow. I fell onto the broken shards. My palm sliced open, but I didn’t feel the pain. Pierce looked down at me with cold fury. “Reese. Are you done with the drama? You’re getting old, turning into a shrew, and embarrassing me at the office.” A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my abdomen. I grabbed for his leg. “Hospital… take me to the hospital… the baby…” Pierce hesitated for a fraction of a second. Willow seized it. She held out her hand, a delicate, practiced tremble in her voice. “Pierce, my hand is burned, look! Will it leave a scar?” He immediately took her hand, soothing her softly, before turning a chilling gaze back to me. “You brought this on yourself.” He left with her, without looking back. That night, I lost the baby. Blood saturated my dress, the sheets, my memory. I lay in the sterile hospital bed, my pillow wet with tears. Pierce finally arrived a week later. Willow was with him. “Reese, our marriage was never fair. I’m seven years younger than you.” “What man doesn’t want someone younger and fresher?” “But Willow isn’t trying to steal your position. She’s just grateful to me, just like I was grateful to you once.” I laughed, a horrible sound that turned into weeping. Gratitude. That’s all the vows, the promises, the protection had ever been. I had never felt such gut-wrenching shame. The love in my heart slowly curdled into pure hatred. After I was discharged, I went straight to Apex Group. I fired Willow Chan and immediately cut off all my mother’s family’s financial support to her. “The past four years of tuition and living expenses total sixty thousand dollars. Pay it back to the company account within one week. I won’t bother with the gifts.” “Also, anyone who is blacklisted by the Nolan family will never work in Newport again.” Willow screamed, her face contorted: “You old hag! You’re just jealous of me!” Pierce rushed in and pulled her behind him. “Reese, have you lost your mind? At your age, who will want you if you leave me?” “Willow just graduated, and you’re terrorizing her. You’re a nasty piece of work.” If reclaiming what was mine made me nasty, I gladly wore the label. “If you want Apex Group to stay open, Willow leaves Newport.” I walked out, holding onto a sliver of desperate hope. If he came after me, if he chose me, I would forgive him. But Pierce chose Willow. Even when I pulled a huge percentage of my family’s investment out of his company, he kept her close. He drove Apex Group into debt, throwing money at her, once spending thousands on a fireworks display just because she casually mentioned she “liked to watch them explode.” The final straw: when Willow got pregnant, Pierce transferred a significant portion of the company’s stock to her name and demanded a divorce. I finally snapped and told my mother everything. Eleanor was furious. She leveraged our family’s connections to crush Apex Group. Pierce’s company quickly imploded, drowning in debt. Desperate, he came back to me. He sent Willow away, falling to his knees and groveling for forgiveness. My mother, still enraged, assigned him to oversee a dangerous construction site, picking the hardest, filthiest jobs. Pierce took it all without complaint. He seemed to transform back into the devoted man he once was, fulfilling my every petty request. I tested him daily, making him run ridiculous errands, wait in freezing lines, and stay up all night to buy me desserts. Then, my mother’s company was sabotaged. The capital chain snapped, and she was facing bankruptcy overnight. The shock triggered a massive heart attack. She was rushed to the ICU. Those were the most desperate days of my life. I expected Pierce to take his revenge, but he didn’t. He stayed by Mom’s bedside, managed the chaotic household, and even physically fought off the debt collectors, his arm badly cut in several places. Slowly, the ice in my heart began to thaw. “You look exhausted…” I whispered one night. “You’ve been through hell.” He gripped my hand. “I promised I’d protect you forever, Reese.” I cried for a long time that night. I told him: “I want that dessert from the bakery downtown.” He nodded. “Done.” I had actually written out the divorce papers that day. With my mother’s business ruined, I couldn’t bear to drag him down anymore. But I never saw him again. What I got instead was a call from the police: “Ms. Nolan? Your husband was in an accident on the way to the bakery. His vehicle went over the bridge and into the river. We haven’t recovered his body…” The rapid succession of trauma shattered me. I was diagnosed with severe depression. I attempted to take my life multiple times, ending up in a locked ward. Now I understand. It was all Pierce’s play. The crash. The faked death. Even my mother’s company’s ruin was likely his doing. For eight years, I lived in soul-crushing guilt, convinced my selfishness had killed him. Those memories were my prison, forging him into a perfect, unattainable phantom in my mind. Now I know the truth. After the initial burst of anger, a strange lightness settled over me. It wasn’t my fault. The love I had for him died the day he cheated. The last eight years were just the haunting ghost of misplaced guilt. “@PierceNolan, get out here! Is this true or not?” “@PierceNolan, why the silent treatment now?” The internet was in an uproar. As I finished typing, the last of my rage drained away. “Thank you, everyone. No need to tag him.” “Whether he is alive or dead, he is no longer relevant to me.” I typed the final line, stood up, and walked toward the door to leave the house. The door burst open. Pierce stood there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was rough with emotion. “What do you mean, ‘no longer relevant’?” “Reese, how dare you decide what’s relevant to me?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388969”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 “Five hundred dollars for my year-end bonus. And you expect me to be grateful?” Brenda, the HR manager, managed to keep her corporate smile glued to her face. I’d been at this company for eight years. I had written over a million lines of code—1.27 million, to be exact—that powered three of our core systems. The bonus? Only five hundred bucks??? “Jenna, you have to understand the company’s current restructuring difficulties…” I laughed. I took a sheet of paper from my bag and laid it on the desk in front of her. My resignation letter. Dated today. 1. Brenda stared at the letter, speechless for a good five seconds. “Jenna, don’t do anything rash.” “I’m not being rash,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” Eight years. From the day I walked in fresh out of my Master’s program, it had been eight years. I was the 7th Employee. I’d been here longer than most of the current management. Back then, the company was crammed into a shabby downtown office suite—less than 200 square feet. Summers were hell without AC. Winters were just as bad. The very first line of code I ever wrote for them is probably still running somewhere. “You know if you walk out now, you forfeit your bonus, right?” Brenda said. “Five hundred dollars,” I replied. “Keep it.” Brenda’s expression finally cracked. “Jenna, I know you feel slighted, but you need to see the bigger picture—” “Brenda,” I cut her off. “Do you know how much overtime I logged last month?” She didn’t answer. “One hundred and eighty-seven hours,” I said. “That’s an average of six hours a day, every day. No overtime pay, no compensatory time off. Not even a simple ‘thank you.’” “Look, the truth is… we have a cultural issue with work-life balance…” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “The issue is that you decided my dedication was your birthright.” Brenda opened her mouth, then closed it again, finding no defense. I stood up. “What’s the process for resigning?” “Are you… are you absolutely sure about this?” “I am.” Brenda looked at me, her eyes clouded with something complex—pity, maybe, or simple inconvenience. “You should know, you were on the restructuring list.” I paused. “Excuse me?” “The current round of downsizing. You were on the list,” Brenda said quietly. “You were slated as number one.” I stared at her, thinking the fluorescent lights in the office were messing with my hearing. “Number one?” “Yes.” “The reason?” Brenda looked down at her hands, avoiding my gaze. “Easily replaceable.” The phrase felt like a knife blade, driven deep into my chest. Easily replaceable. Me? The person who built the entire payment processing system from the ground up? The one who had maintained three mission-critical modules, alone, for eight years? The one who was called at 3 a.m. to fix a bug, then showed up to work the next morning, never taking a single sick day? Easily replaceable? A strange, cold laugh escaped me. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s see you try.” Brenda looked up, a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes. “Jenna, what do you mean?” “It means nothing,” I said, picking up my bag. “The letter is on your desk. Start the paperwork.” “Wait, I need—” I didn’t wait. I pushed the door open and walked out. The hallway was quiet. The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the wall where the corporate values were displayed in large, modern script. “Innovation Through Synergy.” “A Culture of Gratitude.” “People-First Mindset.” The words were a brutal, hollow joke. Eight years. I’d poured my youth, my time, my entire self into this company. What did I get in return? A corporate death sentence: Easily replaceable. I drew a deep breath and kept moving. As I passed the break room, I heard voices. “I hear they’re cutting twenty percent this quarter.” “Seriously? Did the list leak?” “Yeah, I heard Jenna Su in Tech is the first one out.” “Jenna? The quiet one? The wizard who does all the payment stuff?” “That’s the one. She’s like, the old guard, right? Eight years?” “How did she end up first?” “I heard her leader, Blake, pushed for it. Said she was ‘easily replaceable.’” “Her? Easily replaceable? That’s insane.” “Who knows. Whatever the bosses say goes, I guess.” I stood outside the doorway, unseen. The gossip continued. “She handles the payment architecture, doesn’t she?” “Payment, risk management, the clearing system… I don’t know the specifics.” “So what happens to all those systems?” “No idea, but Blake said it’s fine. They’ll hire someone to take it over fast.” “Right. Good luck with that.” I’d heard enough. I walked back to my cube, opened my laptop, and began to clean out my digital life. Eight years of files, emails, and code logs. I wouldn’t take a single thing that belonged to the company. But I was taking something far more valuable: me. My ability. My experience. The holistic understanding of how this brittle, complex architecture actually worked. That wasn’t on any server. It was in my head. They said I was easily replaceable? Let the replacement begin. 2. As I packed up my files, the past eight years flashed in my mind. I had my Master’s degree from a top-tier university and walked into a thirty-person startup in 2016. Marcus, the current CTO, was the one who interviewed me. He didn’t have so much silver hair back then, and he certainly wasn’t so slick. “Jenna,” he’d said, leaning forward. “We’re small, but we have a vision. Join us, and let’s build something massive together.” I bought in. On my first day, I was assigned to the Payment Team. The Payment Team was just me. “The payment system is the core,” Marcus told me. “You have to get it right.” I asked, “Just me?” “Just you for now. When the next round of funding comes through, we’ll build out the team.” I waited eight years. The team remained a single chair. The payment system went from zero to a functioning reality, then to a massive piece of infrastructure, all through lines of code typed by my fingers. As the business grew, they piled on the Risk Management and Clearing systems. No one else was available, so it defaulted to me. I became a one-woman maintenance crew for three core systems. System crashing at 3 a.m.? My problem. Major bug on a holiday weekend? My vacation canceled. Urgent new feature deployment? I handled the rollout. I can’t count the number of times a phone call dragged me out of deep sleep. I’d open my laptop, bleary-eyed, fix the fire, and when the sun rose, I’d be back in the office for a regular day. No extra pay. No time off. No acknowledgment of the sacrifice. Because to everyone, that was just Jenna. Jenna always handles it, right? Jenna won’t say no. Jenna has no life outside of work. It was true. I had no life. I had a relationship once. He broke up with me because I was never available—always on call, always canceling. My parents harassed me about getting married. I told them I was too busy to date. They accused me of being a cold daughter. I missed every friend gathering, perpetually tethered to my phone, ready for the next catastrophic bug. I gave them all my time. What did they give me? 2018: The company’s first VC round, valuation $200 million. My bonus: $1,000. 2020: Second round of funding, valuation $1 billion. My bonus: $1,500. 2022: The IPO, market cap $5 billion. My bonus: $2,000. 2024: Now. Market cap $8 billion. My bonus: $500. It made no sense. The company grew exponentially, but my share of the pie shrunk. I tried to question it. Brenda (HR) said, “Jenna, times are tight. We’re all saving our budgets.” I said, “But I read the press release. Last year’s profits grew thirty percent.” She just smiled thinly. “The news, you know, can be… inflated.” I went to my leader, Blake. Blake was an external hire who came on two years ago. He was polished, had an impressive résumé from a top company, couldn’t write a line of code to save his life, but was a genius at upward management. “Jenna,” he told me. “Your problem is you don’t manage up. You do great work, but the execs don’t see it. You need to articulate your impact.” I countered, “I write weekly reports, monthly summaries, and I email a full debrief after every major deployment.” “That’s not the same,” he’d said dismissively. “Your reports are too technical. The C-suite doesn’t read code. You need to learn to speak their language—the language of strategy and vision.” I fell silent. He was right. I wasn’t a polished talker. I was a coder. But wasn’t coding valuable? Without my code, how did this billion-dollar company function? Without my eight years of sacrifice, where was their $8 billion market cap? I didn’t get it. It wasn’t until I saw my annual performance review that I finally understood. My rating: B. B meant “Meets Expectations.” Neither bad nor good. My bonus multiplier: 0.5. Blake, my leader, who had been here two years? His rating was S. S was the highest tier. His bonus multiplier: 2.0. What did he do in two years? He reformatted my weekly reports and sent them up. He added a glossy cover page to my technical proposals and sent them up. He repackaged the results of my code and sent them up. Oh, and he did one truly momentous thing: He changed the color of a button on our checkout screen. From blue to green. He reported that single action three times and won an “Innovation Award” for improving the user experience. I wrote 1.27 million lines of code: B rating. He changed a button color: S rating. That was the true value system of this company. That was their “People-First Mindset.” 3. I thought I had reached peak disillusionment. Then I saw the optimization list. Brenda hadn’t meant for me to see it, of course. It was my own discovery. I’d gone to her desk at lunch to ask about vacation payout specifics. Her screen was unlocked, showing a spreadsheet. “Q4 2024 Organizational Restructuring List.” My name was in the first row. The comments section was brutal: “Suggested Rationale for Optimization: Long tenure, severe wage compression, easily replaceable.” “Recommender: Blake Chen.” I stared at the words, my heart hammering against my ribs. Wage compression. It was true. My salary was low. In eight years, my starting salary of $60,000 had only climbed to $120,000. Meanwhile, a new grad, fresh out of college, was starting at $100,000. Interns I had personally mentored were now getting paid more than me after their first year. My former mentees were now team leaders in other divisions, earning double my salary. I’d asked for a raise every year. Every year, the request was rejected. The reasons were a rotating script: “The market is soft this year.” “The budget is too tight.” “Hang in there, we’ll look at a major adjustment next year.” I waited eight years. I waited for the payoff, and instead, I got the label: Severe wage compression. And the final, killing blow: Easily replaceable. The irony was acidic. I was the single point of failure. I was the only person in the entire organization who understood the end-to-end logic of the payment architecture. I was the only one capable of bringing down-system back up at 3 a.m. I was the only person alive who knew the history of every spaghetti-code legacy bug. Easily replaceable? Where would they find another Jenna? But I didn’t challenge anyone. I just went back to my desk and continued organizing my files. At 3 p.m., Blake came over. “Jenna, I hear you put in your notice?” “I did.” “Don’t be hasty,” he said, adopting a tone of benevolent concern. “It’s the end of the year. If you walk, you forfeit your bonus entirely.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388968”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. Chapter 1 It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. 1 The ground was slick with smashed fish fillets where a child had trampled them. Each piece was a five-dollar loss. A shame. I crouched down, scraping the pulpy mess into the slop pail, my movements slow and deliberate. “Oh my God, did you see that? That was the ex-fiancée of Marcus Sterling, the CEO!” “I heard she killed a man, right? News said she got five years!” “A killer? She’s a killer, and she’s selling food outside a school? That’s insane! She must be mentally unstable.” “Keep your kids close, close. Who knows what kind of vendetta a person like that might be nursing…” The parents collecting their children hadn’t dispersed yet. They eyed me, whispering behind gloved hands. I calmly tended to fry my chips, acting as if the subject of their morbid fascination was someone else entirely. Five years ago, I was Seraphina Jones: the shining talent at the Astoria Conservatory, the Golden Girl, and the fiancée of Marcus Sterling, heir to Sterling Global. Marcus, back then, would charter a jet to bring me to the Swiss Alps just because I’d casually mentioned I wanted to see fresh powder. I genuinely believed we were untouchable, until Chelsea Hayes arrived. Chelsea was the impoverished student I’d mentored and financially supported for four years. After graduation, I used my influence to get her a junior position at Sterling Global. I never imagined she would repay me by sliding into my bed—or rather, Marcus’s bed—and then, while I was locked away, marrying him and bearing his child. Once the crowds finally thinned, I packed my cart and pushed it toward my sub-level studio. I struggled to lock the cart near the stairwell entrance. As I turned, I saw the man standing at my door. The motion-sensor light in the hall had been broken for months, but I recognized the silhouette instantly: Leo Maxwell. He was the younger brother of a woman I’d met inside—a tough woman who became a reluctant protector. He was also my only neighbor. He was holding a small plastic bag containing a few tubes of medicated ointment. By the faint sliver of light escaping my cracked door, he saw my hands. The fresh, raw blister where I’d fumbled by the hot oil, the panic of pulling my cap down—it stood out starkly against the landscape of old, thick scars that already covered my skin. Leo’s brow instantly furrowed, and the old, jagged scar running above his left eyebrow twitched, giving his face a look of rugged severity. To me, it was the only source of warmth I had in this frozen world. “What happened to your hand?” His voice was deep, raw, like sand and gravel. I automatically tucked my hand into my sleeve, forcing a strained smile. “It’s nothing. Just a small burn. What are you doing here?” Leo said nothing. He simply stepped forward, took my wrist, and pulled me inside. “Let’s go.” My basement unit was an icebox—no heat, just damp concrete. Leo, with a strange sort of domesticity, flipped on the switch of my tiny space heater. The rusty coils began to glow a muted orange, casting a meager halo of warmth. He made me sit on the unit’s only folding chair, then knelt on the cold floor in front of me. He twisted open a tube of ointment and carefully began to dab it onto the burn with a cotton swab. The medication was cool, mentholated, and it finally stifled the throbbing, raw heat. I looked down at him. He was a man of few words; we’d exchanged maybe ten sentences since I moved in. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that without his silent help—an extra blanket, a shared meal, a word with a sketchy landlord—I might not have survived that first month out of the system. “I saw him today. And her,” I admitted, the sentence hanging unfinished in the cold air. Leo’s body went rigid. He didn’t look up, but his voice was tight. “You haven’t let it go, have you, Sera?” 2 I stared at the mold and moisture staining the wall, my mind drifting back to that torrential rain five years ago. I’d received Chelsea’s frantic call. “Sera, please, I need help! I hit someone… on Seaview Drive…” I drove out immediately. When I arrived, the scene made my blood run cold. My luxury sedan—the one I’d lent Chelsea—had a crumpled hood. The bumper was slick with blood. A few yards away, an elderly man lay in the mud, lifeless. Chelsea hadn’t been hit; she was the one who had struck and killed him. She was huddled in Marcus’s arms, wrapped in his bespoke suit jacket. The air inside my car, which she’d abandoned, was thick with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and stale champagne. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened just before the accident. “Sera.” Marcus saw me. There was no apology, no shame. He strode toward me, and his first words cut deeper than any knife. “You’ll take the fall.” I recoiled. “What are you talking about? Marcus, have you lost your mind?” He gripped my wrist so hard I thought he’d snap a bone. He leaned in, screaming over the drumming rain. “Chelsea is pregnant! I can’t have my child born while its mother is in a federal institution!” I stood there, drenched and utterly stunned. My former mentee was carrying my fiancé’s child. “I won’t…” I backed away, tears mixing with the rain on my face. Marcus’s expression turned utterly vicious, a coldness I’d never seen. “Did you forget? That car is registered to you.” He lowered his voice, making the threat feel more intimate, more terrifying. “Also, your father’s company is running on fumes right now. It’s only Sterling Global’s bridge loan keeping them out of bankruptcy. And your mother’s bypass surgery? Scheduled for next week.” He pressed closer. “Do you want to wake up tomorrow morning to the news that Jones Industries has collapsed, your father jumped from the roof, and your mother’s heart medication has been pulled?” I was paralyzed. A sudden chill shot from my feet straight to the crown of my head. “Marcus! You’re not human!” I shrieked. My tears tasted bitter, salty. “I’ll get you the best lawyers, Sera.” He gently brushed the water from my cheek, a terrifying act of tenderness. “When you get out, I’ll marry you. Just take the charge for Chelsea. I have people on the inside; I promise you, I can get you out in two years, max. The Jones family funds will be transferred by sunrise.” Chelsea, hiding behind him, started to sob dramatically. “Sera, please… I can’t go to jail. I have my grad school applications, my life is just starting…” She gave me a sickening, saccharine look. “You’re different. You’re the Jones heiress. You’ll be fine, even if you do a little time.” Police sirens wailed in the distance, closer now. “You know what to do,” Marcus commanded, his voice softening to an urgent plea. Between the survival of my family’s legacy and my own freedom, he had already made the choice for me. I walked toward the squad car. Due to the severity of the death, and the way the story was handled by the media—painting me as a drunk, reckless heiress—my sentence was extended to five years. Inside, the environment was brutal. One of the hardened inmates, the self-appointed queen, despised me. Toilet duty, sleeping on soaked mattresses, cigarette burns—it was routine. The worst was the late-night beatings. The agony was so intense that I curled into a ball, feeling a hot, wet rush between my legs. When I was finally hauled to the infirmary, I found out I had been pregnant. The doctor, a callous woman, simply cleaned up the bloody tissue and told me flatly: “You lost the baby. It’ll be tough for you to conceive again.” I lay staring at the ceiling, numb, until the guard told me I had a visitor. Marcus. It was the only time he ever came. 3 I grabbed the phone like a lifeline, screaming and pounding on the glass partition. “Marcus! Our baby is gone! They kill our baby!” “It was Chelsea! She must have bought people inside to hurt me! Marcus, you have to help me!” He looked at me with a deep, crushing aversion. “Sera, what are you doing to yourself? Why have you become this person?” He shook his head, his face etched with disapproval. “Compulsive lying. Hysteria. Chelsea is the kindest soul I know. She wouldn’t harm an insect. Why would she hire someone to hurt you?” “Are you so desperate for sympathy that you’d fabricate a pregnancy? Why don’t you just say you have cancer next?” “I’m not lying! You can check the medical records…” I choked out, desperately. “Enough.” He cut me off, cold and final. He stood up and adjusted his expensive cufflink. “Just serve your time. You’ll be out soon. I’ll make it up to you with a spectacular wedding.” He walked away. He never looked back. That was the moment I died inside. Back in the cell block, the queen-inmate, seeing my shattered expression, cackled savagely. “Still calling out for your Prince Charming? We must have been too soft on you.” “I heard these hands were meant for the piano. Such beautiful hands. A real tragedy.” Then came a sickening snap. My right index and middle fingers were stomped on, deliberately. Without proper treatment, the bones fused crookedly. The joints twisted and knotted, resembling the brittle branches of a dead tree. Now, I couldn’t even hold a pair of chopsticks without a tremor of pain when the weather changed, let alone touch a piano key. “Done.” Leo’s voice pulled me back to the cold present. My hand was carefully bandaged. The stark white gauze glowed faintly in the dim orange light of the space heater. I realized Leo was watching me intently, an emotion I couldn’t quite place churning in his dark eyes. “You’re shaking,” he stated. I looked down at my disfigured, knotty fingers. He was right. I was shaking because Marcus had broken his promise. The promised “short stay” had turned into the full five years. And my parents… they didn’t want me back. The few chances I had for a call home were always met with a busy signal. The one time the call connected, it was Chelsea. “Sera, stop calling. Mom and Dad get chest pains whenever your name comes up. Their bodies can’t take the stress.” Mom and Dad? My mind went blank. My mother quickly snatched the receiver. “You have the gall to call this house? You disgraced the Jones name!” “Drunk driving, manslaughter… how did we raise an animal like you?” “Mom, no, I did this for—” “Shut up! Don’t call me that!” My father’s voice, thick with disgust, cut in. “We don’t have a daughter named Seraphina. Never call us again. You can rot in there for all we care.” Then, Chelsea’s sweet, cloying voice: “It’s okay, Mom, Dad, have some tea, calm down. I’m sure Sera will reform herself eventually.” “Oh, Chelsea is such a good girl,” my mother sighed, her voice instantly softening. “If only Sera was half as sweet as you. From now on, you are our daughter. That failure, she can stay in jail.” The line went dead. I held the receiver, listening to the hollow dial tone, a ghost abandoned by the entire world. She hadn’t just stolen my fiancé and my freedom. She’d stolen my parents, my home, my entire identity. After that, I never called again. I couldn’t bear to hear the tenderness they reserved for her, or the venom they saved for me. 4 The day I was released, I stole away to my parents’ suburban home. I just wanted to see them, even from a distance. But the imposing wrought-iron gates were padlocked, and a foreclosure notice was plastered on the front door. A neighbor told me the cold facts: “The Jones family? They lost everything. Didn’t you know? Mr. Jones had a massive stroke and died on the floor of his study. His wife, she just withered away a few days later. Broken heart, I guess.” I stood in the bleak winter wind, staring at the house where I had grown up, now a sterile mausoleum. I had no family left. Every promise Marcus Sterling ever made me was a lie. “Leo,” I lifted my head, my voice dry. “How can people be so black-hearted? How do they live with themselves? How do they… sleep at night?” Leo didn’t answer. He stood, his broad back blocking the draft from the hallway. He pulled a thick bundle of hand warmers from his jacket pocket and shoved them into my lap, followed by a bag of warm, fragrant pastries. “Eat something.” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning to leave. As he reached the threshold, he paused, his back still to me, his voice low and guttural. “Sera. Don’t look back. Those kinds of vermin aren’t worth dirtying your hands over.” He paused again, turning his head slightly, and the scar on his brow was prominent in the gloom. “From now on, you have me.” The door shut. When I woke again, the morning light was a weak, pale gray filtering through the tiny basement vent. I got up to open the door, preparing for the day’s grind. I pulled the door open just a crack, and a rush of cold air, mingled with the familiar scent of an expensive, smoky cologne, hit me. My body locked up. Standing in the narrow, shadowed hallway, a figure totally out of place, was Marcus Sterling. He wore a cashmere coat, the picture of refined wealth. But his eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept, and the floor by his feet was littered with cigarette butts. Seeing me, he stubbed out the cigarette and fixed his eyes on mine. “Sera.” His voice was hoarse, tinged with an almost imperceptible tremor. I tried to slam the door shut. A large, determined hand shot out, jamming the frame. Ignoring the pain of the metal grating against his knuckles, Marcus forced his way inside. The cramped basement unit instantly became suffocating. I stumbled back, grabbing the small fruit knife from the table, my hand shaking as I pointed it at him. “Stay back! Marcus, what do you want now? I have nothing left! What more can you possibly take?!” Marcus’s pupils dilated, and a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face. He took a hesitant step closer, his voice strained. “The accident… five years ago… I had my reasons, Sera.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388967”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel